


Haunted

by Kyla_Wren



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Halloween, descent into heck, that's haunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 23:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21364159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyla_Wren/pseuds/Kyla_Wren
Summary: Amara is the last siren witch in Heck. She’s sick of all the screaming skulls flying around,  and she’s not about to let an entitled dead astronaut take over her turf. Lucky for her, there’s a drunken ghost named Zane who is willing to help.
Relationships: Amara/Zane, Amara/Zane Flynt, Zane Flynt/Amara, Zane/Amara
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Haunted

Amara pressed the last daub of white paint onto her cheekbone. A skull’s grinning face met her eyes in the lake’s reflection.

“Heck is for witches.  _ Heck is for witches _ ,” she hissed, pumping herself up. The skeleton’s mouth moved along with her words. 

She rose, touching her paint-saturated ponytail. Sticky. Still, it was worth it. The spell worked best when you made yourself into a  _ caput mortuum _ , dead head. After months of preparations, she wasn’t about to blow her big chance just because the outfit was uncomfortable.

The siren stretched out her fingers, summoning the twisted dry branch broom from its place above her hut’s door. Her black-coated hands were cracking like the surface of an antique painting as they flexed. She patted them over her hips, checking her inventory. Close-range wand. Long-range wand. Heavy wand. Quick wand. Potion bottles. Captain Haunt poppet.

That skull-headed son of a witch was going down _ tonight _ .

Amara swung a leg over her broom and kicked it with her heel. Up, up, over her hut, over the grasping trees and the fathomless lake, into the green night sky that boiled over the little hollow.

  
  


She circled the mansion. From this height she was just another pinwheeling vulture in the swirl of fog. The weakest point of the stronghold was the back garden, through the old cemetery. She nosed down, dropping like a rocket.

A pile of dead leaves softened her landing. She wasn’t alone.

A translucent blue figure lounged on the broken stone wall. Empty wine bottles surrounded him, knocked over like bowling pins. Another was in his hand. It looked eerily solid in contrast, as if it were floating. He turned his head to watch her dismount and hide her broom with a warding incantation.

“Evenin’, gorgeous.”

Amara crossed her arms. “What are you?”

He was a solid photonegative, pure ectoplasm given human form.  _ Handsome _ human form.

“A ghost, love. What else should I be?” He dematerialized and reappeared by her side. The bottle fell and smashed, but Amara refused to flinch.

“Are you bound to Captain Haunt?”

“I’m bound to nobody. Unless ye want to change that.” The ghost sidled closer. She reached out to push his shoulder, and he melted away, popping up again on her other side. “Name’s Zane.”

“Sorry. I don’t have time to chat.” Amara waved him off, drawing her quick-shot wand and setting off at a brisk walk.

“Damn, lass, ye’ve got murder in yer eyes.” Zane walked after her, teleporting to keep up. He moved like a glitching video.

“We’ll see.” She twirled the wand, aware that every word was bitten out with untold threats. 

The ghost teleported into the low branches of the nearest tree, swinging his legs.

“So it’s Haunt yer gunnin’ for?”

“If you’re not going to help me, you might as well go back to drinking.”

“Maybe I do wanna help.” 

“Oh, really? Do you also feel Captain Haunt’s oppression bearing down on your neck, or does it just pass right through?”

“Was that an anti-ghost joke, love? Tsk. For shame.” He fell back into step with her. “There are guards ahead.”

For the first time, Amara looked at him with something other than irritation. “How many?”

“Mm, reckon a dozen, give or take.”

“Fine.” She broke into a run.

“Oi, wait up!”

  
  


Her wand vibrated hard enough to fly out of her hand, overheated by the hexes being cast. Amara turned to catch the last guard, just in time to see her new ghost friend snapping their armoured neck. Zane gave her two thumbs up and a grin as the enemy crumpled forward .

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, lovely.”

She rolled her eyes, giving in. “My name’s Amara.”

“Oh ho, the siren witch o’ the woods herself! It’s an honor.”

She nodded and jerked her head towards the back of the house. Orange light flickered in the stained glass windows, between the crawling vines. “Coming in with me?”

“Ye know it.”

She went to the back door, beginning the slow work of cutting through the iron chains. Zane floated over the soft soil of the pumpkin patch, boots an inch off the ground.

“Cellar’s a quicker route,” he offered, pulling the rotted wooden door off the entrance. “No locks, either, devil knows why.”

Amara frowned. “How do you know this house?”

“I think it used to be mine, maybe. Can’t rightly remember.” He jumped in, pouring like quicksilver.

The cellars were flooded with blood. Just another dramatic touch from Captain Haunt’s renovation. The horde of ratches scurrying around had more to do with the nature of basements than with malevolent spirits, but the green haunting that cling to them like mist was new. Amara sloshed around, feeling the warm liquid lap at her ankles and wrinkling her nose. A witch learned to know the smell of bleeding, but this was excessive.

Every time they killed a ratch, one of those infernal shrieking skulls gathered from the rags of mist and catapulted towards them. If Amara missed a shot with her wand, she had to strike them down as they flew into her face. The sensation was like punching through the ice on the lake in winter. Afterwards, the corners of her vision clouded with green and her ears rang with ancient screams. After taking three directly to the face, she echoed their screams, filled with frustration.

“Aye, that’s what I’m hearin’ all the time these days,” Zane agreed with her, shrugging his pearlescent shoulders. “We get it, boyo, yer tortured by yer crimes while livin’, etc., etc. Give it a rest.”

She shook her head to dislodge the spirits. This part of the cellar was dry, lit by enchanted candles. The drop into the courtyard was before them. Amara spit some black paint out of her mouth, knowing that it was wearing off of her lips. Her legs were stained red from the knees down.  _ Almost there. _ She whispered some words in the language of the dead, refilling her wands with elemental power.

Zane pulled some sort of contraption from his belt. It was made of the same shimmering ectoplasm as his clothes.

“What’s that?”

“This... is my boomstick.” The ghost waggled his eyebrows.

Amara squinted at him. “Does it shoot hexes?”

“It shoots  _ bullets _ . Ye know. Gun? Any of this ringin’ a bell?”

The siren shrugged and dropped into the courtyard below. After a beat Zane followed her.

  
  


Captain Haunt was not pleased to see them.

"You again?!" He pointed at Amara, rising out of his pit. “I thought I killed you!”

“You did! I’m back to repay the favor.” The siren threw a corrosive potion bottle at him, running clockwise around the garden. Then another, and another, until a rolling cloud of poison surrounded the Captain and made him wheeze.

“Ye were dead too?” Zane teleported to where she dropped behind a gravestone.

“Briefly,” Amara took out her long-range wand and sent hexes at the Captain. “I have a good resurrection spell. Fuck you, skullhead!”

She jumped out of the way, sprinting to another headstone as Haunt threw huge blistering fire bombs at them. The ghost stayed where he was, letting the napalm pass through him.

“Resurrection spell? Don’t tease me like that, lass!” 

A crowd of Haunt’s minions moved into position. Zane unloaded his boomstick, barely paying them any mind. His cryo bullets froze the fighters in place, caking them with ice.

When he looked up, Captain Haunt was enclosed in a transparent bubble that made Amara’s spells bounce off like hailstones. The force field was being fed by crystals displayed on pedestals throughout the courtyard. The witch darted across the garden, smashing the gems one by one. She moved like someone who had done the fight before - who had triangulated the scene, made a corkboard of notes and string back at her hut identifying Haunt’s weak points, and who had packed everything she needed to win.

When the last crystal broke, the captain’s shield wall fell. Amara yanked the poppet off her belt. It was a funny little thing, made of cloth and straw. Even from across the garden Zane could recognize Haunt’s tiny skull head and space suit. She gripped it in her fist, muttering the last lines of an incantation many months in the making.

Acid-green patterns glowed through the flaking paint on her arms. A massive fist in ghostly emerald burst from the soil and seized Haunt in a corrosive grip. The captain screamed, an endless wail like the combined noise of every skull that haunted Heck. He flung one last flaming projectile at the witch as he boiled up into steam.

Zane saw the path of it and flung himself down in front of her, willing himself into tangible form just before the firebomb hit. The magma hissed and smoked against his skin like dry ice.

“Agh, stings like hell when ye let it,” he yelped. The witch behind him stayed safe and unburnt.

Amara dropped the poppet. It crumbled into ash on the ground. “Are you all right?”

“Well enough, thank ye.” The ghost stood with a wince.

She smiled at him for the first time. “Thanks. You make a good partner.”

Zane made no reply, beyond a sort of dazzled expression.

The courtyard was still and quiet again, for the first time since Haunt had blown into town.

“The captain’s dead.” Amara holstered her wands. She noticed her companion was not as celebratory. “We won. Why the long face?”

“Well, somethin’ tells me that we just did the job that was keepin’ me tied here.”

“You mean the reason you aren’t, um… Resting In Peace?”

“Aye.” Zane looked disappointed. He shuffled his feet. They passed right through the ferns he stood on.

“So, what happens now?”

“I’ll fade away in some type o’ mist, I imagine. Fancy a kiss before I go?” He smiled. “Worth a shot-”

She cut him off, seizing his arms and pressing her lips to his before he could dematerialize again. He was cold and solid, not at all unpleasant. Tasted a bit like wine. He was also a very enthusiastic kisser, once the surprise wore off.

After a few minutes she pulled back, still gripping him by the shoulders. She gave him a stern look.

“You aren’t fading.”

“No, ah, seems I’m not.”

“There’s no mist.”

“Nay, none more’n usual.”

“Was this really your house?”

“No idea.”

“Unbelievable.” Amara muttered a spell. Her broomstick stood up to attention, flying into her left hand.

“I’m as surprised as you, lass.” Zane looked down at himself, taking stock. He looked back up to see Amara idling on her broom. 

She patted the space behind her on the narrow branch. “Coming with?”

Together they flew into the clouds, borne higher and higher by the haunted wind. It was a good night in Heck, the first of many more to come.

**Author's Note:**

> My most niche fanfiction yet written - and a post-halloween treat for all three or four people in this ship fandom, I so very much appreciate you!!
> 
> I just wanted to write something short and fun, with an Army of Darkness joke in it. Hope you guys liked it!


End file.
